


Maybe we all go down together

by cinderellasleftshoe



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Arrow AU, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Polyamory, Season/Series 02, Shameless Smut, Something Made Them Do It, Threesome - F/M/M, Tommy Merlyn is Alive, Tropes, Undercover, Voyeurism, sorrynotsorry, totally contrived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 03:37:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7084084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderellasleftshoe/pseuds/cinderellasleftshoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity and Oliver go undercover as a couple at Verdant to sex up a notorious (and hot) arms dealer who just happens to be a voyeur. Diggle thinks he's taking a weekend off from these terrible plans. Tommy Merlyn steps up his game. Shameless trope-ing abounds. AU, not canon, Tommy is alive, season 2-ish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Terrible Plan

Felicity, her blonde hair twisted into a loose bun run through with a pencil, cursed softly at her workstation, "Dammit. Why is there absolutely no evil in Starling tonight?"

Oliver, bare chested and sweaty in dull, grey cargo pants, grunted his way up and down the salmon ladder. Out of the corner of her eye, Felicity watched a rivulet of salty sweat run down his bulging biceps and drop off his elbow. Did she just say "bulging biceps" aloud, she wondered. "Dammit."

Diggle finished tossing clothes and gear into his duffel, zipped it up, and hoisted the strap over his shoulder, "Well, I'm glad it's quiet. Maybe you two won't be able to get into any trouble while I'm outta here for the weekend. And don't call me."

"Wait, what!?" Felicity asked, spinning in her chair and bringing half-naked Oliver into her full view. She blinked twice and refocused on Dig.

"Felicity, I told you this. Lyla is in town and we've got plans."

"Plans like 'dinner on the couch and Netflix' plans, or like 'secret A.R.G.U.S. five-star suite with room service and fluffy spa robes' plans?"

"Plans like 'none of your business' plans, Felicity," but his face set in a wide grin, and there was no malice in his tone.

"Ahhhh ... secret suite plans." Felicity nodded and returned Diggle's smile. "Have fun! Errr adult fun! Not like miniature golf fun! Not that miniature golf isn't fun. I love miniature golf! Not as much as I like adult fun, but ..."

Oliver dropped down from the salmon ladder and grabbed a nearby towel. "We won't call, Dig. Enjoy your weekend."

"Thanks, Oliver." And Diggle winked at Felicity, pivoted on his heel, and headed for the stairs. "Stay out of trouble."

\---

Oliver rubbed the towel into his hair and used the opportunity to discreetly check out Felicity. She was in yoga pants and a 12 Monkeys tee that was at least two sizes too large. There was a small pencil smudge on her forehead, and she was chewing on her lip as she stared at the screen. Her plump pink lower lip caught in her teeth was mesmerizing.

A screen blinked and something beeped at her search terminal, the one that was dedicated to monitoring her internet crawl bots. Felicity scooted her chair over in front of the terminal and began banging away at the keyboard. Oliver pulled a tee over his head and stepped up to her chair to peer over her shoulder. "What is it?"

"Huh. Gimme a sec," she responded as she pivoted her chair slightly and pulled a profile up on a second monitor. "Oliver ..."

Oliver leaned over her left shoulder smelling of heat, salt, and male, "Is that ..?"

"Yep. Jamie Thorne-Smith. International arms trader. Bioweapons. Loose ties to Eden Corps and a half dozen other terrorist organizations. Currently working out of Russia."

"Can you tell why he's here in Starling?"

"Nope," Felicity popped the 'p' in nope and sucked in her cheeks. "Um, his jet landed three hours ago. Crew are staying at the Towers -- that's for one night only. I guess they're headed out of here tomorrow."

Oliver stood, threaded his hands behind his neck, stretching his torso as he stared forward lost in thought. Felicity's face was at ab-level. One of these days she was just going to lean over and lick him. It would serve him right, standing around all salty and perfect and perfectly oblivious. Oliver's eyes came back into focus, and he looked down at her, "Thorne hasn't been in the continental US in at least three years. He's on Homeland Security's watchlist. Not to mention A.R.G.U.S. and every other alphabet agency, black, grey, and otherwise. Why is he here?"

Felicity typed a few commands and clicked through several screens. "Car service. They will be with him until tomorrow. Looks like the concierge at the Towers booked him a dinner at Salt and a VIP booth at Verdant."

"He's coming here!?"

"Looks that way. What do you want to do?"

"What do I want to do? I want to know why he's here. I want to plant a tracker on him and see who else he is meeting with." His hands gripped the back of her chair, and he caught a whiff of her perfume, sweet, like caramel, and a little naughty like ... like how at this angle her oversized tee is gaping a bit in the front and he can just catch a hint of white lace. Oliver straightened quickly and took a step back.

Felicity rotated her chair toward him, "OK!" she said cheerfully. "So we put on some club clothes, we head upstairs, we plant a tracker on him, and we see where he goes."

Oliver shook his head, "It won't be that easy. He travels with security, he will be surrounded. We need to get him to approach us."

Felicity rotated her chair back to her monitor (Thank the goddess for wheelie chairs that spin around) and with a few more keystrokes she brought up more files to skim.

"Felicity..." Oliver began when he saw one of the images was of a blonde burlesque dancer straddling Thorne, but she held up her index finger in the universal sign of "shut up, I'm reading this."

After a few moments she said under her breath, "Oh, OK. This... this is good," and then louder, "this could work, Oliver."

"What could work?"

"He likes blondes, and I'm a blonde. And he likes boys, and you're a boy."

"O-kay ..."

"And he likes to watch."

"Wait, what?" Oliver stared at her.

Felicity jumped up from her chair and began pacing and talking quickly, "It's simple, really. We'll get Roy to set us up in another VIP booth, we'll dress up, we'll park in the booth, we'll put on a little show, and Thorne-Smith ... Thornesmith ... Smith of Thorns ... sounds like a Game of..."

"Felicity!" Oliver snapped anxiously. "What little show?"

"Oliver, he's a voyeur. He likes to watch. He likes blondes, he likes boys, and he likes to watch. We put on a little sexy show, he watches his way over to us, we plant the tracker on him, easy peasy." She made a clearing motion with her hands.

"No. No, no you're not. We're not. This is not... this is not a good idea." Oliver wondered if her babbling was contagious. "Not easy ... peasy."

"Oliver, look. He's only in town a few hours and then he's out again. This is our chance. We can plant a tracker, bug his phone, steal his wallet, infect him with mono, whatever we want. Now. While he's here. And then we find out where he goes and what he's up to."

"Infect him with mono?"

"Whatever, look, do you have a better plan?"

"A better plan than putting on a 'little show' with you in my sister's club to lure in a murderous sociopathic arms dealer with a full compliment of bodyguards? I think any plan is better than that plan!" Oliver huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. 

Felicity watched his chest rise and fall in ire, and then crossed her arms over her own chest. "This is a great plan!"

"This is a terrible plan!"

"Really? A terrible plan? You're a billionaire playboy, and you can't sex up a hot blonde in public for an evening. Like that’s a thing you've never done before? Like you've got no experience with that?" She strode over to her keyboard, clicked a few keys, and with a flourish of her mouse hand, all the monitors in the lair were suddenly filled with paparazzo images of billionaire playboy Oliver Queen sexing up women in public. "I rest my case."

"You what?"

"My case. I rest it." Felicity glared at him through her cute glasses, pencil lead still smudged over her left eye.

He glared back. His gaze landed on the monitors behind her, and he sighed.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, glanced at the screen, and hit a number, listening until it picked up. "Roy? Yeah, you've got a VIP booth reservation with a security entourage for tonight? Yeah. That's right. Reserve me a VIP booth nearby for the same time. Just two. And bottle service. But not Thea. She's not in tonight? Good. Right. Thanks." Oliver clicked off the call, "Happy?"

"Very," she replied sweetly. "Now, I've got to get out of here so I can get ready. Meet you back here at what time?"

"Ten. But I can pick you up." 

"No need. I'll see you at ten."

"Fine."

"Great."

“Hot blonde?”

“Very hot blonde, Oliver. Muy caliente!" 

\--- 

What could possibly go wrong?


	2. Peer Review and Emojis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyla and Felicity collaborate. Tommy, Oliver, Roy, and Diggle don't stand a chance.

Felicity dusted off the front of her tee and hopped in her Mini Cooper. This Saturday had been dedicated to blowing out the dust, lint, teeny metal shavings (thanks, Oliver) and assorted junk from her servers. It took hours. She'd crawled around on the floor and tightened cables for good measure. But now it was time to rush home, jump into a hot shower, and throw down some of her best girl game. She put the car in reverse, zipped out of the parking lot, and shot onto the street. Her bluetooth synced with her car and blooped with joy. She imagined it was joy - like her smartphone and her car were little friends. Bloop bloop. Little bluetooth friends. "Phone, call, Lyla" Felicity commanded the little bluetooth friends.

The speaker rang twice and Lyla picked up, "Hey, Felicity!"

"Hey, yourself! All ready for your secret sexy suite with John?"

"Almost. I've got the candles, the tequila, and the room service order placed. I could use a bit of footwear peer review though."

"Sure. What are our choices?"

Lyla mock-cleared her throat signaling it was time to talk serious business. "I've got it down to the studded Versace stiletto booties that we bought that time in Los Angeles, or the Jimmy Choo red suede platform sandals with the ankle bows that tie in the back."

Felicity hissed, "tough choice! Those are both soooo hot."

"I know, right!?"

"What's the outfit?"

"Black lace booty shorts and a matching bralette."

"Nice! Definitely go with the Versaces. Your ass will pop!" Felicity popped the "p" in pop.

"You sure?"

"Yep!" Felicity popped the "p" in yep.

"Done! Thanks! You doing anything fun tonight?"

"Yep! Want to help me with my outfit?" her lips needed balm, she realized with that last 'p'. 

"Sure! What's the date?"

"Well, it's a not-date. With Oliver. We've got a mission."

"You're going undercover on a date with Oliver!?" Lyla squeed like a middle school girl.

"It's a not-date. And yes. Oh god. DON'T TELL JOHN!"

"Duh!"

"Thanks, Lyla." Felicity felt a smile spread over her face at her friend's affirmation. "We're going clubbing to try to draw the attention of a bisexual arms dealer so we can plant a bug on him."

"Oh, fun! You and Oliver sexing it up at the club to honeytrap an arms dealer!? That's an AWESOME plan!"

"I know, right!?" Felicity shouted into the microphone.

"OK, so, what are you going to wear?" Lyla was back to her serious business voice.

"Um, I think the deep blue, silk harem pants and that silk tulip halter we picked up in Paris."

"Totally. Oliver won't stand a chance against that. Oh! Wear your sparkle Choos -- the black, caged stiletto ones!"

"Yes! Should I put my hair up or down?"

"Ummm," Lyla thought it through and replied, "up! Maximize the skin exposure potential of that halter."

"Genius!"

"I almost feel sorry for Oliver, except that he still hasn't figured out he's head over heels for you, so it serves him right!"

"Ugh, I know, right? Idiot. Well, we'll see how he handles the gold belly chain..."

"Oh, he's going to 'handle' that about as well as Johnny is going to handle this rose oud perfume."

"Ha! $10 bucks says he doesn't notice anything else at all after he sees your ass in the small and lacy-ies." 

Lyla giggled again, "We're going to slay!"

"Yes we are!"

"Oh, hey, text me if you need anything, girl." Lyla's voice took on a note of concern.

"We promised John we wouldn't."

"What's he going to do about it once I've got him tied to the headboard?" Lyla asked, sweetly.

"Ha! OK, I promise I'll call if I need anything, but I wont."

"I know you've got this, Felicity. Go bag an arms dealer!"

"Lyla, wear that man out!"

"Roger that. Watch your ass, Felicity."

"Love you too!" Felicity clicked off the call, made the turn, and pulled into her parking garage with a naughty smile and all the plans.

\---

Oliver stood at his kitchen counter and knocked back a liter of green juice. His phone blooped with a text message from Tommy: "wanna do something tonight?"

Oliver typed back: "can't. plans."

"secret stabby plans?"

Oliver snickered: "yes."

"can I play too?" Tommy asked, adding a cat emoji. Why a cat?

"no." Oliver typed back and added one of those frowny faces

"dude you're even broody in your texts"

Oliver frowned at his phone. It blooped again with another message from Tommy: "you're glaring at your phone right now, aren't you!?"

Of course he was glaring. He'd somehow agreed to this terrible plan of a fake date with Felicity -- Felicity! He should have put up a fight. He'd gotten confused. That's what it was. She'd confused him with her scheme of sexing and hotness. She'd been crawling around on the floor all day in yoga pants, making baby talk to her servers, "you poor thing, how did you get green lint all clogged up in your fan?" Damn. There was something wrong with him for getting worked up over Felicity coo-ing at computers. In yoga pants. Crawling on the floor. He sent one last text: "hitting the shower. call tomorrow." Oliver replaced his phone on the counter, and headed off to stand beneath three shower heads worth of cold water.

\---

"hey, hotness" 

Roy's phone buzzed in his pocket. He set the case of top shelf liquors down on the bar and pulled the phone out of his pocket. Thea. “hey,” he sent back.

“mom canceled on me so i'm here ALL ALONE,” and she added a bunny girl emoji

Roy stared at his screen. It blooped again, and this time, Thea sent a kissy face emoji with a glass of wine emoji and a cat. Why a cat?

“sorry she canceled again. you ok?” he sent.

“i will be if you come over and bring sushi”

Roy stared at his phone again and thought that this was going nowhere good. He needed to be at the club for Oliver tonight: “cant. have to open/close”

Bloop “get that bartender Sara to do it”

Roy took a deep breath. Yeah. Nowhere good. “cant. we're short barbacks tonight. gotta stay”

Roy held his breath and watched the screen that was just showing the ellipses that meant Thea was typing. 

“fine. no 'cat emoji' for you tonight.”

Damn.

 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so happy for your support and your kudos! I'm having so much fun :) Also, dialogue is hard.


	3. The bisexual-poly-voyeuristic international arms dealer who looks like Tom Hiddleston but definitely is not Tom Hiddleston, and everyone else, gets pretty for the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters getting into character for the evening when everything will definitely go as planned. 
> 
> \---
> 
> A note about Felicity in my headcanon: She's not a child, and she's not an innocent. She knows when a man wants her. She also knows when one is being an idiot about it, when one is emotionally unavailable, when one is a train wreck in a nice suit, and when you can count on one to be a loyal and discreet friend and sex buddy, even if he'd be a terrible boyfriend. But she's not above letting a man twist a bit if it might help him learn something. Or just because it's fun.
> 
>  
> 
> A note about the author: She is definitely not taking herself seriously.

The Towers was a luxury loft highrise with a full hospitality staff, first rate security, and utmost discretion. Some of the residents lived-in year round, while other lofts were held by internationals who came through maybe once a year, and still others were owned by corporations in order to house their distinguished guests and whale clients. Queen Consolidated owned three units here, although they were on mid-level floors and renovated in the style of modern condominiums with rooms, doors, walls, and other privacy considerations, suitable for visiting clients and corporate housing for temporarily contracted auditors, lawyers, and efficiency experts.

The particular Towers penthouse loft currently in use by the party of Jamie Thorne-Smith was of the international variety, owned by a Dutch corporation, that was in turn owned by a friend of a client of Jamie Thorne-Smith's. The loft occupied the entire northeast quarter of the top floor of the building. It had a private circular stair to a rooftop pool and garden, as well as access through a keypad gate to the helipad. The entire north and east walls were glass and looked over the city to the bay beyond. The interior design was 'posh industrial,' essentially, it had enough reclaimed hardwood floors and exposed infrastructure to look modern, without so much as to cause its occupants to be uncomfortably familiar with life's plumbing and duct work. 

The furnishings were mid-century, with lots of wood and leather, in a monochromatic palette on the gradient from white to black. A few pieces of art in the bauhaus style splashed color on the walls. In the great paradox of the loft concept, this unit was listed as both a "loft" and a "three bedroom with professional kitchen" which meant, in practice, that it was an enormous open space containing three semi-separated sleeping areas demarcated by carefully placed furniture, half walls, semi-opaque hanging panels, and elevated platforms, along with a kitchen more suited to catering a party than warming a bagel. Of course, three king size beds, a couple of sleeper sofas, and other assorted chairs and ottomans meant you could sleep (and feed) a crowd if needed. Which was fine because Throne-Smith didn't really like being alone. For this trip, he was sharing his living space with his Eton pal and best friend, Matt Hardwick, who looked very much like, but definitely was not Raza Jaffrey, and their favorite mean girl sidekick, Eva Everton, who looked very much like, but definitely was not, Emily Van Camp. Rounding out the group, was Jamie's personal assistant and bodyman, Jaz Chopra, who looked very much like, but was definitely not Sendhil Ramamurthy.

Eva had walked into the loft, seen the white floofy bed on the platform suspended six feet in the air, climbed the few steps up to it, tossed her garment bag into the middle of it, and claimed it as her "rightful place among the stars." Matt had grabbed both his and Jamie's bags and tossed both in the largest sleeping area, a linen panel-enclosed, step-up platform against the eastern glass wall. Jaz left his spinner bag by the door and walked over to the eight-top pub table, opened his briefcase and unpacked a laptop and two tablets. He tapped on the screen of a tablet and said, "Jamie, our dinner reservation with Merlyn is confirmed. As is the table at the EDM club, Verdant. But, I'll just say again that this establishment is unfamiliar to us, and it might be better if you want to socialize, to call an agency to send some models over to the loft for the evening. I'm sure it can be arranged."

Jamie, brushed his longish brown curls away from his vivid blue-green eyes and read the label on the tequila bottle: Luna Malvada, Jalisco. He broke the seal, scooped four shot glasses up in his left hand, walked over to the pub table with Jaz, set the glasses down, and poured the shots. His friends gathered around. "It will be fun!" he said. "And the Yelp reviews were good." Matt and Eva giggled at "Yelp" while Jaz just looked pained. Jamie spun around and gave a little "snake hips" dance move. Eva and Matt laughed again, which caused Jamie's face to crack into a wide, warm smile. They clinked their glasses together, even Jaz, and knocked back their shots. "I have a broken heart from... what was his name?" Jamie asked. "Isaac," Jaz supplied, looking up from his tablet. "Isaac, yes! Isaac broke my heart, and it needs balm. It needs pretty people dancing balm."

Eva snorted, "we're going to a local club to get pretty people to rub their balm on your heart?"

"Precisely!" said Jamie, "lots of rubbing."

Jaz checked his tablet again, "we were a bit late coming in, so we will need to step to if we're going to get to the reservation on time."

Matt threw back his shoulders and popped his collar, with mock scorn, he said: "Merlyn can wait while we make ourselves pretty!" Then he poured another round of shots.

\---

Thea harumphed. What. An. Idiot. She picked up her phone and typed, "can you believe Roy threw me over for work!?"

Tommy chuckled at his phone and replied, "the monster!"

"IKR!?!"

She shifted from foot to foot and then decided. She sent another message, "Want to go spy on him with me at the club?"

"obvi" Tommy sent back. "but I need an hour to get pretty"

Thea gigged, "you're already pretty. just put on some pants"

"how did you know i wasn't wearing pants!?"

"obvi!"

"lol i will apply the pants, and then i will come pick you up. we will eat and then go to the club to spy on the scoundrel"

Thea sent a happy face emoji and a chicken leg emoji.

 

\---

Diggle let the hot water pour down his back, taking in deep lungfuls of steam. He'd thought about just rushing over to the hotel suite to meet Lyla, but after a day spent listening to Felicity sweet talk her computers while Oliver stared at her ass and tried not to drool, he needed a few minutes of downtime. Dig stepped out of the shower and toweled off. He walked naked into the closet to dress. Diggle wasn't a vain man, be he had to admit that all the gym time and mat time was good for a man's confidence when planning a long weekend in bed with a beautiful woman.

Flat front pants, and a black silk and linen shirt. No jacket, no tie. Handmade, Italian low boots from Oliver last Christmas. A splash of Tom Ford Noir cologne. He looked into the full length mirror and smiled at his reflection. Johnny Cash. Badass.

Dig debated about bringing his phone, but in the end, he slipped it into his pocket. He wasn't going to answer it if it rang, but it would be nice to know he could order delivery if Lyla's phone battery died.

It vibrated.

He pulled it out of his pocket and swallowed hard at the snap on his screen, just an image of Lyla's crossed legs from the knees down, stiletto boots doing the most amazing things for her calves. Time to go.

\---

Felicity put the finishing touches on her up-do. Donna, her mom, had taught her how to do an artfully messy up-do with minimal time and effort. She coated her gold strands lightly with glossy fixing spray. Her phone blooped on her vanity. She picked it up to read the screen. It was from Oliver, "this is just friends, right?"

She wrinkled her nose. He was so cute when he was flustered. "yep. just friends. friends with a mission"

"because you know i would never treat you like that."

"oh, i know" ugh. Believe me, I know, she thought.

"i just dont want it to be weird."

"it's more weird that you put periods at the end of all your texts"

Oliver stared at his phone. Who gets snippy about proper punctuation? "i mean, i dont want to make things weird between us."

Felicity snorted again. Because spending the day staring at her ass and not saying anything about it wasn't weird at all. "it will be fine. we're adults. we both have sex buddies. this will be just like that. but we will catch a bad guy too!"

Oliver found himself cycling through the people they knew to figure out who her sex buddies might be. The bike messenger from the office? The accountant on the third floor? Suddenly he was sure it was that barista in that MFA poetry program who was always handing out flyers for 'open mic' night. Those poetry guys ...

"you still there?" she sent.

Oliver realized a few minutes had passed while he was weighing Felicity's sex buddy options. "yes. sorry. ok. just so long as you know i respect you. and that you keep that in mind."

"i'm a big girl. and i want to know what this death agent is doing in our city"

Oh this was going to be fun, she thought. She'd spent the last thirty minutes while she was drying and ironing her hair looking at footage of Thorne-Smith. And comparing images of him to the actor Tom Hiddleston until she was sure they weren't the same man. They definitely weren't the same man, but TS, as she was calling him in her head, was definitely hot. With a side of definitely delicious.

"see you at 10" she sent, and then pulled her fine gold chain body harness out of its velvet envelope in her jewelry box.

\---

Oliver thought about it for a minute and then sent Tommy a text, "is it weird to put periods at the end of your text sentences?"

"yes." Tommy sent back

Oliver wondered which emoji meant "fuck you."

\---

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading - I have all the newbie anxieties! Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
